


Knots

by Taupefox59



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Bondage, DarkHawk, M/M, knots, rope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt of 'Knots'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knots

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always appreciated!

Ross shuddered and shook, muscles convulsing against the restraints that were holding him in place. Jim was good at knots- very good at knots. Ross’s hands weren’t tied to anything but themselves, almost braided together. Jim had then tied the the thick rope manacles to the headboard of the bed they were using.  
Ross was strong. He had worked in the fields back home, he kept himself strong as a soldier. Often, sheer strength meant the difference between life and death when it came down to close-quarters combat. But he could do nothing against this. He pulled and gasped, feeling the burn in his chest, down the insides of his arm, along his pectorals as he struggled to gain any sort of leverage.

Jim knew him well though, knew how to read the signs of his body, and every time his mind had cleared enough to think, Jim was back, pressing wet tongue to hot flesh, playing with sensation. Thick, calloused fingers skimming along sensitive skin, the soft press of fingertips edged with the bite of knife-trimmed nails. Now, those clever hands were scratching through dark hair, made darker from sweat.

Ross had no idea how long he’d been tied up. He only knew that it was some glorious, timeless hell, and that he was utterly at the mercy of the man on top of him. He couldn’t move - could barely breath. His life had been whittled down to heat and light and sweat; the burn of tense muscles and the fickle nature of his own lungs as his chest was heaving but he still didn’t feel like he had enough air. He was gasping for it, he could feel it as it caught in his throat, and was held there by interminable waves of pleasure. His entire existence seemed to only exist in the coiled, sparking need that had long since spread from his core to pull at his at his bound and useless fingertips, to curl his toes as if the flexion of his feet could do anything to alleviate his desire.

Jim finally curled one of his strong, weather-roughened hands along stiff and weeping cock that lay heavy against Ross’s stomach. Ross could feel his cries at the sweet pressure finally where he wanted it most. He didn’t realize that his head had been thrashing on the pillows until Jim’s other hand found a place in his hair. Ross pried his eyes open - he wasn’t exactly sure when he’d closed them. He tried to say something, but it turned into a scream, when Jim’s hand shifted on his prick. He tried to move into the touch, but he couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t, couldn’t fight raw, unfiltered pleasure shooting through him. He felt like he’d been sanded down to nothing but nerves being played with steady surety by the blond siren who had washed ashore and somehow wound up in his bed.

Jim’s hand was hot and dry, and Ross felt as though he was being consumed by it; it was everything, the feel of lightning, the taste of copper, the scent of smoke from black powder. It was as if Jim had scooped out his innards and replaced them with sunlight, and Ross didn’t know how he was supposed to keep it all inside his skin. He choked on another cry, because he had to scream, he had to let something out, but he needed air, and he got trapped somewhere in between.  
Jim was merciless, picking up pace until Ross could feel the burn of friction threading through the overwhelming tides of pleasure. Ross squeezed his hands into fists, trying to cling to the distraction, anything that could tie him back down from being washed away.

Ross was tied down, but he’d never been so adrift.

He had to blink the wetness from his eyes before he could see properly, and he had to see, had to watch. Ross felt as though his body no longer belonged to him. It was a thing of Jim’s, for Jim to work with his steady, casual precision and competence.

Ross needed to know what it looked like; the sparkle in Jim’s blue eyes, the flash of white teeth against tan skin. All that he could feel was blinding, so he had to see to feel. Feel the wicked look he got, when Jim released his hair, and put both hands to work between his legs.

Ross wasn’t sure what Jim was doing until he was struck down. Jim’s hand, hot and fast on his cock, was joined by steady pressure below, that sparked up and flared like a barrel of gunpowder. Ross was lost.

He was caught, pulled in and out, needing to move, held down, collapsing and exploding at the same instant. He could distantly feel every muscle contract, but he was so sure he’d been cut free; nothing but the pleasure that was now beating through his veins, rolling over and crashing down, tipping him loose into freefall, and then somehow freezing him there. Thought dissolved into passion, sifted into nothing under the force of persistent, overwhelming, exquisite pleasure. He had no body left, just noise, echoing light and heat, rushing up and out; touching the stars, and reaching the blackest depths of the sea.

When Ross became aware of himself again, he could still feel the lingering static, along with what would surely become tension, once the liquid satisfaction finished evaporating from his muscles.

Jim was smiling at him softly, picking the knots apart with deft movements.

“I expect you found that reasonably enjoyable.” Jim said, dimples showing as he smirked.

Ross tested the rope around his hands, and growled when he found he didn’t yet have the slack to get his hands free. The only way he could possibly explain his experience was by kissing the breath from Jim, and he needed his hands for that.

The instant the rope fell loose, Ross grabbed Jim, and pulled him forward. Jim squawked and fell forward, not expecting the sudden change in position, but Ross didn’t care. The weight felt good against his chest; grounding him back in himself after he had just learnt what it felt like to become the sun.  
Ross slid one hand into Jim’s curling blond hair and let the other one drift to gentle along sharp jawline and arching cheekbones. He pressed forward, luxuriating in the soft give and drag of chapped lips against his own. It took a moment for Jim to settle, but soon enough he shifted, apparently content enough to be draped along the top of Ross’s sweaty body, and Jim began to kiss back.

It wasn’t the fervid, lust-filled kisses that so often tipped them headlong back out of their clothes and into bed. At this moment, it was simply comfort; connection, an affirmation. They were more than mindless passion. They were what came after, as well. When the sparks had all been dampened, and all that was left was soft. They’d blown through any barriers already, torn down pretense at walls to keep them separated, and now all they had was this; the steady press of mouths, silent of pleasure-cries, but open to the soft slick sound of tongue and teeth moving together.

When they finally broke apart, the tingle in Ross’s body had abated to nothing but the faintest shadow. He shifted to sit up against the headboard of the bed, and his heart ached at the sight of Jim; beautiful, sparkling eyes and kiss-swollen mouth.

Ross wasn’t sure what was to become of them, but he was sure that he’d found in Jim a true friend, and a good man. Jim was intelligent and intrepid, and Ross knew that whatever the future held, he would be glad to have Jim at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> I sometimes post things on tumblr which don't make it over here, so if you're interested, [tumbr](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/)! check it out!


End file.
